


Derek the Red-nosed Werewolf

by the_problem_with_stardust



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 12 Days of Sterek, Christmas Eve, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Protective Pack, Scott is a Good Friend, Sickfic, Stiles Stilinski Cooks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 16:18:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17025987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_problem_with_stardust/pseuds/the_problem_with_stardust
Summary: In Stiles’ defense, he didn’t know that werewolves could get the flu. So when he’d quarantined himself in Derek’s spare room, he figured he was doing his Dad and any other humans in Beacon Hills a favor. Just because Stiles had to be miserable over his winter break didn’t mean anyone else did.Or at least that’s what he thought, until Derek didn’t show up for the pack Christmas Eve celebration.





	Derek the Red-nosed Werewolf

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 12 days of Sterek!

In Stiles’ defense, he didn’t know that werewolves could get the flu. So when he’d quarantined himself in Derek’s spare room, he figured he was doing his Dad and any other humans in Beacon Hills a favor. Just because Stiles had to be miserable over his winter break didn’t mean anyone else did.

Or at least that’s what he thought, until Derek didn’t show up for the pack Christmas Eve celebration. It took some wheedling (and maybe a little bribery) to get Isaac to admit that Derek was home sick.

“I can’t believe….” Stiles trailed off, angrily chopping onions and trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes. “He told me it was fine!”

Erica stole a bit of carrot and shrugged. “Derek likes having you around.”

“But I got him sick!” Stiles chucked the vegetables into a pot, slapping Erica’s thieving paw away from the escaped carrots.

“I really don’t think he minds.” Boyd said, sneaking Erica a bit of celery.

Stiles glared at them both. “No one likes being sick.”

“I can’t believe you’re this dense, Stilinski.” Boyd shook his head and went back to watching the chicken simmering on the stove.

Isaac jumped off the counter to stand next to Boyd. “In Stilinski’s defense, human pack bonds are different.”

“Well obviously.” Erica lobbed a stray bit of carrot-top at Scott’s head.

Scott pretended not to notice, attention seemingly focused on the Stilinski’s disaster of a spice cabinet.

“You know he’s not going to get involved.” Isaac carefully picked the carrot out of Scott’s hair and threw it back at Erica. “He said it was their problem and to let them handle it.”

Turning from where he was sorting bottles, Scott smiled up at Isaac and patted his jean-covered knee. Then went back to whatever method he’d worked out.

Stiles blinked, not sure how to take that. “Scotty. My dude. You’re hiding things from me?”

“It’s none of our business,” Scott said, glaring at Erica.

Boyd snorted, taking the chicken from the stove. “Maybe some of us can handle the pining better than others.” He transferred the meat onto a cutting board _with his bare hands – fucking werewolves_. “But I, for one, am sick of it.”

“Wait.” Stiles tore his eyes from where Boyd had just stuck his hands into boiling water like it was no big deal. “You guys can sense that?”

“It’s awful,” Erica said, dramatically collapsing onto the counter. “He’s like my big brother. I _really_ don’t wanna know how much he wants a piece of that.”

The words threw Stiles for another loop. “You mean _Derek’s_ pining.”

“You should let the guy down gently. He’s got it bad,” Scott said, finally turning toward the conversation.

“Derek,” Stiles said slowly, “Broody, badass, alpha, _Derek_. Has it bad for _me_?”

“I mean, I can’t fault his taste.” Erica wrapped her arms around Boyd, who laughed and kissed her hair.

Isaac glowered. “I can.”

“Shut up, you know you love me,” Stiles retorted, trying to wrap his head around the fact that _Derek Hale_ was pining after him. And he’d just spent a week being sick and gross in his house.

Automatically, he accepted the chicken-laden cutting board and dumped the bite sized pieces in with the chopped vegetables. He added the broth and covered the pot, leaving the soup to simmer.

“Scotty. Scott. What the hell?”

Scott sighed, handing him rosemary, tarragon, thyme and parsley. “It wasn’t my place. And I _know_ you think he’s hot. But that’s not the same thing.”

“When did you get all emotionally mature?” Stiles grumbled, adding in the spices before covering the pot again.

Shrugging, Scott looked to Isaac, who answered with a quirked brow. “Just,” Scott paused. “Be nice? He’s kinda been through a lot.”

“What McCall said.” Boyd used his claws to tear open a package of egg noodles.

Erica stole one of those too and made a face at the crunch. “Seriously though. You’re both our friends so please don’t fuck it up.”

“Right,” Stiles said, reaching for the bag of noodles. He added them slowly, turning his thoughts over in his head.

The rest of the pack (minus Lydia, Allison, and Jackson who had family commitments) left him to it, going back to their planned Christmas Eve festivities. Stiles watched the soup simmer for a while longer, then made up his mind.

\---

Balancing the ceramic crock of soup while digging his keys out of his pocket turned out to be a ridiculously challenging feat. Stiles fumbled for a bit before managing to get the door open. It was a little after five on Christmas Eve and the house was dark.

Stiles set the soup down on the kitchen counter and made his way up to Derek’s bedroom where he knocked softly at the door. There was a grumbled response, too low for his human hearing to pick up, so he pushed the door open. Derek was curled up in his bed surrounded by tissues and cough drop wrappers.

The sight made Stiles’ heart twist. “Hey. How’re you feeling?”

 “Stiles?” Derek rolled toward him, eyes flying open.

“Yeah. Just me.” Stiles sank down onto the bed. “I heard I got you sick.”

Derek did his best to shrug and look tough, but the effect was ruined by his red nose and watery eyes.

“I’m really sorry.”

“S’okay,” Derek said. “I got to see you.”

And wow, Derek must’ve _really_ not been feeling well to admit that. Stiles reached out to smooth some of Derek’s hair out of his face. He’d been letting it grow out some and Stiles’ fingers itched to touch.

“You can see me whenever you want, big guy.”

Derek closed his eyes under his fingers. “Can’t. I always wanna see you.”

Stiles dropped his hand away, trying to get a handle on his traitorous feelings. He’d spent so much time trying to bury them – not ready for another Lydia-like obsession – when all along, they’d been real.

“I always want to see you too,” he admitted. “And being sick here was, not nice, exactly, but it felt safe?”

It probably didn’t make sense, but Stiles didn’t care. He jumped to his feet, flinching at Derek’s whine of protest.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” he looked around the room. “Do you have any medicine that works on you?”

Derek shrugged, unhelpfully, and Stiles sighed. He sent a quick text to Deaton before thundering down the stairs.

When he returned with a steaming bowl, Derek looked like he was half-way back to sleep.

“Hey there,” he said softly. “Can you sit up for me?”

With minimal grumbling, Derek pushed himself up against the pillows. He accepted the bowl from Stiles and took a bite.

Immediately looking from the soup, to Stiles, then back to the soup, he frowned. “This is really good.”

“Yeah?” Stiles asked. “The pack helped me make it. It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

It had no processed ingredients, although the original called for fresh herbs. Maybe next time he could come up with something better than whatever dried seasonings he’d had on hand. But the ‘wolves assured him it was infinitely better than anything from a can.

“Thank you.” Derek shoveled more into his mouth, like he hadn’t eaten all day.

Stiles sat back down on the bed, maneuvering against the headboard. He pressed his shoulder against Derek’s, smiling when the werewolf leaned into the touch.

Eventually, he took the empty bowl from Derek’s hands.

“You think you can try to get some sleep?” he asked.

Derek nodded, stubble scraping against Stiles’ neck.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything, okay?”

Derek nodded again, wriggling back down under the covers.

Stiles switched off the lights as he left the room and left the door cracked a tiny bit behind him. Deaton had texted back, saying rest should take care of the virus in a day or so.

After that, Stiles would ask if Derek would be interested in dinner. He had a few more of his grandmother’s recipes he wanted to try out.

**Author's Note:**

> Rebloggable edit and link coming soon!
> 
> EDIT: [Here it is!](https://theproblemwithstardust.tumblr.com/post/181233083883/12daysofsterek-author-theproblemwithstardust)


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